


Steal My Heart (Grand Theft Lotho)

by linguamortua



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Heist, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua
Summary: On the planet Lotho, a man called Leelan Vorn possesses the kind of AI stealth route-mapping technology that any smuggler would kill for. Lando's not so much into the killing, but stealing? That, he can do. Han comes along for the ride. Fortuitously, as it turns out.





	Steal My Heart (Grand Theft Lotho)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jougetsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a gift for the Rare Male Slash Exchange 2018. The plot went a bit crazy and I didn't have time to finish it... but here's me, repaying my debt to fandom society. Or at least, the first chapter of my debt.
> 
> DECEMBER 19TH UPDATE: this fic is on indefinite hiatus. I have some of the second part written, but no motivation to get it done right now. This note just lets me officially put it on hold and not think about it. If you're interested in it, subscribe and you'll be notified when I post an update.

‘I don’t want to alarm you,’ said Lando, uncharacteristically _sotto voce_ , ‘but they’re checking identification chips at security and I absolutely did not pay for good forgeries.’

‘I’m not alarmed,’ said Han. ‘Why would I be alarmed?’ His right hand crawled under the edge of his jacket.

‘You’re reaching for a blaster right now,’ Lando said. ‘I can see you doing it.’

‘That’s not alarmed,’ Han snorted. ‘That’s sensible.’

The line crept forward two paces. Around them, the bustle of multi-species interplanetary traffic made it quite easy to argue in low voices without being overheard. Lando took full advantage.

‘No shoot-outs, Han. You know it only makes matters worse.’

‘Creates a diversion,’ Han corrected. He scanned the security guards up ahead.

‘We need the opposite of a diversion,’ said Lando. ‘We need to be absolutely unremarkable.’ They took another few steps towards security.

‘Great,’ said Han. ‘You were supposed to handle this, you know.’

‘I _do_ know,’ said Lando through gritted teeth, ‘and I am regretting some of my past choices. But that doesn’t change the fact that we need to get through security in order for this plan to work.’

Another two people in front of them; they scanned their documents and were waved through.

‘Think of something fast,’ said Han, ‘or I will.’

Shaken by the prospect of Han improvising, Lando stepped forward and confidently held his wrist out to be scanned. The Sullustan security guard waved the scanning unit. It double-beeped petulantly.

‘Again,’ grunted the guard. Lando sighed lightly, as if a rescan was an unspeakable inconvenience. Again, the scanner rejected his counterfeit chip. ‘You two together?’ the guard asked, gesturing between Lando and Han. A beautiful escape route opened itself up to Lando.

‘Yes,’ he said, turning to put his arm around Han’s waist. Han prickled like a hedgehog. ‘This is my husband.’

‘Out of the line,’ the guard said. ‘This chip is invalid.’

‘Ugh,’ said Lando. He looked at Han. ‘Darling, I told you hyphenating our names would be a bureaucratic nightmare.’

‘A nightmare,’ repeated Han. His hand was no longer on his blaster but he had a certain stubborn look on his face.

‘Solo and… Calrizan?’ the guard read on his reader.

‘It’s Calrissian-Solo,’ Lando said smoothly, as if he’d been practicing for weeks.

‘Sounds foreign.’

‘Well, we’re not from around here.’

‘Purpose of visit?’

‘It’s—our honeymoon,’ Lando improvised. The Sullustan looked at them with all the doubt that his pouched face could display.

‘A honeymoon? In Lotho?’

‘We’re here to see—’

‘The tar pits,’ Han put in. ‘They’re scientifically interesting.’

‘Right,’ said Lando. ‘He’s so interested in—chemically unique geological features.’

‘Because I’m a geologist,’ supplied Han. The Sullustan gazed between the two of them with the air of an individual who has seen too much and is paid too little to argue with mild eccentricity. Then he punched some buttons on his reader and turned the screen towards Lando.

‘Please verify your name here,’ he said, and Lando corrected the spelling and entered the changes with a flourish.

‘Seeing it in print never gets old,’ he said to Han, who made a noise that might have been agreement, or a stifled cough.

‘Welcome to Lotho,’ the guard said mechanically, and he waved them on through the narrow gates ahead.

‘I told you there wasn’t any call to be alarmed,’ said Lando, trying not to sound smug, as they shuffled through the gate pressed against dozens of other travellers.

‘You sound smug, _husband_ ,’ Han retorted. Lando ignored him; they were through security, and grimy Lotho was theirs for the taking.

 

* * *

 

It was said that Lotho was in irreversible climactic decline, an overheated fishbowl of a world permanently infused with the pollutants of centuries of galactic waste disposal. Lando supposed that was true, but it was hard to imagine when their quarters were so cold that he feared his hands might stick to the raw metal walls. It had been sterilised, of course. Still it felt dirty; looked as crumbling and degraded as the exteriors of all the buildings here. Lotho was pockmarked by acidic rain and pollutants. Its inhabitants sickened and died at a tremendous rate, tumour-ridden and drowning in the fluid of their own lungs.

‘Quite the honeymoon destination,’ Lando said, as Han checked the ‘fresher and bedroom for intruders, blaster in hand.

‘How long are you going to beat that dead tauntaun of a joke?’

‘As long as we’re on this planet, baby. Until Lotho and this Leelan Vorn guy are a dot in my reverse scanner, I don’t want anything to compromise the plan.’

‘Great,’ said Han. ‘Is it even worth it?’ Lando snorted at him.

‘Is it—we have the opportunity to get our hands on a custom-written AI for stealth route mapping, that lets anyone plot a course through the densest asteroid fields without being detected. That generates trajectories that make it almost impossible for a ship to get a scan on them. And I know a guy on Corellia who’ll pay handsomely for it.’

‘How handsomely?’ Han grumped, as though Lando hadn’t already told him a dozen times.

‘More handsome than your ugly mug, that’s for sure.’

‘Yeah, real mature,’ Han said with an eyeroll. ‘I’m going to bed, anyway.’

It was too cold to undress and Lando was too tired to argue. They fell into the cot that projected out from the wall, piling the bedsheets and their coats over themselves. Han rolled to face the wall, back to Lando, and Lando—not wanting to be outdone— turned into the centre of the room. They pressed together, back to back, like twins in the womb. Proximity was normal. In a shuttle or shoved into a foxhole somewhere, they had never been shy about touching one another.

But usually Han didn’t turn away.

Some hours later Lando woke, sweating and cranky, with his nose full of the metallic, acidic smell of the planet and the antique air conditioning and filtering unit thoroughly broken. Without it functioning, the heat and the smell were both inescapable. Lando wished that they’d brought masks with them. Although good quality masks would mark them out as visitors in the streets, at least he could have slept more soundly. From icebox to steamroom; what a joke. When Lando was rich, which would hopefully be very, very soon now, his climate control was going to be the best available.

He stared up at the raw metal pipes that criss-crossed the ceiling. Next to him, Han stirred.

‘You smell godawful,’ he told Lando, in a display of rank hypocrisy.

‘Is that any way to treat your husband?’ Lando fired back. He got an elbow in the kidney and retaliated by kicking out at Han’s feet. For a moment, they lay in sulky silence.

‘Well,’ said Lando. ‘Let’s do what we came here to do.’

There was no point in lying around, after all. The apartment wasn’t going to get any cooler, and they had reconnaissance to do. Almost in unison, they rolled out of bed and trudged to the ‘fresher. The little room was barely big enough for both of them and, bafflingly, had an ancient water shower instead of a sonic.

‘Look at this piece of junk,’ Han said, kicking at a pipe.

‘Maybe it’ll be cooler than a sonic,’ Lando suggested. He peeled off his damp shorts. Han rolled his eyes for the first time, but almost certainly not the last time, of the day.

‘Really committing to this schtick, huh?’

‘Too warm to argue,’ Lando said in a singsong voice, and he messed with the shower knob until it started to dispense lukewarm water. There was no soap. Of course packing soap would have been an absurdity. Lando sluiced the night’s smell off his skin, shuffling over to make room for Han. He was aware that Han was trying not to brush up against him. Still, there was a radiating heat coming off him in such close quarters. They turned in little circles and cursed at each other.

‘What now?’ Han asked unnecessarily as they dried off. Just to be saying something. He was like that sometimes; couldn’t bear silence. Lando tucked his blaster into the back of his pants and settled his nondescript coat over the top.

‘Take a walk through the neighbourhood. See where Vorn’s holed up. See what kind of digs a scrap merchant and smuggler can snag on Lotho. Hell, maybe we’ll even get ice cream.’

‘Ice cream,’ snorted Han, stamping his feet into his boots and resting the filthy sole on the bed— _on the bed_ , thought Lando, horrified—to do up the laces.

‘On the bed?’ said Lando, unable to let the crime pass.

‘What?’ Han said with a shrug. ‘We’re only sleeping on it.’ And then, swinging his brown jacket on and running a lazy hand through his shock of hair, ‘you’re spoiled.’

Lando groaned.

‘I’d _love_ to be spoiled,’ he said. ‘I _wish_ I was spoiled.’ He considered for a moment. ‘I’m pretty sure I’d be great at being spoiled.’

‘Come on then, princess,’ said Han, heading for the door. ‘Let’s go make a fortune.’

They followed Han’s handheld nav system, staying out of the rain as much as they could. The inhabitable parts of Lotho, those far away from the toxic junkyards and zoned for actual residences, were not that large. It didn’t take them long to find what they were looking for; a clear view to Leelan Vorn’s compound. It was a small and grubby collection of buildings, elevated somewhat over the surrounding houses and shops. A grey metal wall enclosed it. There was no guard tower, no lights, no power lines. A narrow strip of land ran around the outside of the wall. Just enough for a patrol, or a maintenance droid. Down one side, a road ran within a stone’s throw of the wall. Along the other, a bridge slung between two buildings suggested a place from which they could see inside.

‘Let’s split up,’ Han suggested. ‘You take that road along there and try to see over the wall. I’ll swing the other way up and over the bridge. Meet you back here in ten.’

Metallic rainwater crawled down the back of Lando’s neck.

‘Great,’ he said unconvincingly, and started walking. Soon enough he was bogged down in mud. His boots were horrible, remarkable only for their water-resistant properties, and those properties were swiftly overcome. He had sprung a leak. Worse, the road sloped imperceptibly downhill. There was no chance of seeing into the compound, no chance of seeing anything at all. Toxic vapours collected in low points in Lotho. Lando, soon dizzy and nauseous, headed back to the street corner where he and Han had parted ways.

‘So rich,’ he reminded himself. ‘You’re going to be so disgustingly, fabulously, filthy rich.’

Soon after, Han came round the corner at a leisurely saunter and took cover from the drizzle next to Lando. The shop awning was just about big enough for both of them. The unit was empty.

‘Well?’

‘Two guards by the door, and two more patrolling on alternating paths,’ Han said quietly. He lit a cigarette, and held out the box for Lando. Lando preferred cigars, but it gave them an excuse to stand here for a while.

‘No other surveillance? Cameras?’

‘None that I saw. The electronics just corrode in this garbage pit. Here?’

‘Quiet,’ shrugged Lando. ‘Half the shops down here are closed, and there’s no real foot traffic. I couldn’t see any of the compound, and the sewers nearly asphyxiated me.’

‘What a shit hole.’

Lando couldn’t argue with that. Rarely had he seen a planet where bio-labour was so cheap and the work so dirty, where so little care for life was taken. He hadn’t seen a single med-clinic all day, but they’d walked past two coroner’s wagons, hauling away the corpses that were the byproduct of ship-breaking. The quicker they could steal the AI and get out of here, the better.

‘So what’s the plan?’ he asked, dropping his cigarette end in the mud and grinding it out with his toe. Han squinted down the street as if the plan would walk towards them and make itself known.

‘Kick the door down and start shooting?’

‘Funny. I was thinking about something a little more subtle.’

‘Disconnect their comms, overpower the guards and steal their keycard.’

‘Better.’

‘Could really use the plans for that compound,’ Han said doubtfully.

‘Well, we don’t have them.’ Lando rubbed some of the endless trickle of rainwater off the back of his neck. ‘But everything on this planet looks like it's built from the same modular pieces. And the compound’s not that big.’

‘Some business mogul, he is,’ Han snorted.

‘Not for long.’

Han pulled out his blaster, checked it over and reholstered it. ‘Ready?’

Lando shrugged.

‘Ready as we’ll ever be.’ He said it with more confidence than he felt, which wasn’t saying very much. The plasteel-paved walkway out to the compound squeaked in the rain. They walked with their heads on swivels, Han’s hand hovering over his blaster. Lando fully expected him to start shooting at the slightest provocation—if the plan lasted five minutes, it’d be a miracle.

He was on the verge of saying something clever, and then they reached the high rise of the compound’s outer wall and Han was telling him, ‘Good luck,’ in a low voice.  
‘Good luck,’ Lando echoed, and Han jostled their shoulders together for a moment.

As they headed their separate ways around the compound wall, and Han’s brown-leathered back disappeared around the corner, Lando couldn’t help but wish for the Falcon. He imagined it hovering in the lower atmosphere with L3-37’s metal hands on the controls and a watchful eye on planetary security. Waiting to swing in and pick them up when the job was done. Or maybe parked somewhere close for a quick getaway. But the Falcon was too hot right now, and in any case, the docking fees on Lotho were exorbitant, taking advantage of wealthy capitalists flying in to broker scrap and salvage deals in the comfort of spaceport conference rooms.

Anybody who was nobody took a carrier from the system hub at Pino VI. And to pull this off, Lando and Han had to be nobodies. Lando hadn’t packed a single cape, even. Han had not only refused to show any sympathy, but had also made some very rude comments. Skirting the compound wall, staying down low in its shadow, Lando ignored the indignity of his shabby wardrobe and contemplated what he could do with all the lovely, beautiful, ill-gotten cash from selling the AI program.

He reached the compound wall’s mid-point and crouched down in the mud next to the communications box. Somewhere out of sight, Han would be preparing to move in on the guards. How fortunate for both of them that distractions came naturally to Han. Lando slid his blaster out from his waistband and preemptively set it on top the communications box. His boots slid in the mud as he reached up, releasing the same sour, mouldy smell that the whole planet seemed to emit. For a moment, his feet moved as if they weren’t his own, and he landed ass-down in the mud. _Typical,_ he thought to himself. Still, his trusty lockpick made short work of the lock, and he tested the movement of the door the smallest amount with one finger. The squeak of rust or erosion could alert a guard, although their patrol patterns should give them yet a few minutes before they were close by.

The door moved with no protest. So Leelan Vorn wasn’t entirely stupid; someone was maintaining this signal link. Inside lay the simplest of arrays. That figured. They probably had to replace it every damn month, in this climate. Lando slid out a multitool and folded out wire cutters. He fumbled for the wire with slick, wet-gloved fingers. When he cut it, a little blue spark flickered and died. Someone yelled in the middle distance. Lando unfolded himself from the ground with his knees cracking, and started hustling along the wall.

He slid through the mud, constantly risking sliding down into the drainage channel that ran around the compound. Disgusting. Han had really raised a hue and cry, now; Lando heard feet running on plasteel, and voices, and a door slamming. Now that they were in motion, Lando had that familiar feeling of excitement cut with knife-edge nerves. It was all about staying on the excited side. All about staying alert, using the adrenaline. Next stop, take out the guards. He had to be ready, had to—but where were they?

Lando rounded a corner—nobody. Perhaps Han was leading them a chase. He fumbled for his earpiece and found it gone. Probably lost when he slipped in the mud. Then stars burst in Lando’s vision. A firework display. He reached for his blaster, but gravity eluded him. He was falling again, slipping into the mud. Forward, this time. Pain blossomed on the back of his head. Someone had hit him. Had they? Who? He hit the ground and his blaster was gone, his palms flat in the mud. His teeth bit together and he felt the impact in his eyeballs.

Above him, someone was shouting. Off to the side, he saw a flicker of movement. Brown leather. He didn’t look. It would draw attention to Han. Lando closed his eyes, dizzy. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t put Han at risk.

‘Just go,’ Lando managed to say. He used the slangiest and most crass of spacer cant, all but a secret language for those who hadn’t spent years knocking around low places. Then the world tipped up and went dark.

 

* * *

 

Han watched Lando topple face-first into the filth, Vorn’s patrol standing over him with blasters drawn. With shame burning in his gut, he rolled down the bank and into the filthy run-off pooling in the drainage channel. Lando had been careful not to give Han’s position away; no use in getting himself captured, too. It was impossible to stop Vorn’s men at this moment. What would Lando do? Regroup, of course, and plan, and use his wits.

Han crawled down the drainage channel, trying not to splash, and finally made his way back into the slums again. There he could climb back up onto the street level and ghost through the empty storefronts and storage lots. His heartbeat hammered in his ears so that he could hardly hear his own footsteps. Every so often he ducked behind cover and listened for a moment. Nothing. He couldn’t hear anyone following him. Neither, he realised, had he heard blaster fire. There was a chance that Lando was alive. Alive, and abandoned.

‘Some husband you’d be,’ Han whispered to himself in between gasps for breath. It had seemed like a game to Lando, pretending to be married. Pretending to flirt. Pretending to be tied together, to share a name. Now, Han had to wonder if there was anyone in his life he relied upon more than Lando.


End file.
